


The War Effort

by sassbandit



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 4F 'verse, Alternate Universe - Sex Work, Anal Fisting, F/M, Medical Examination, Zero (0) Orgasms, no foreplay, no-serum steve rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 20:29:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16249232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassbandit/pseuds/sassbandit
Summary: "Ready for the main show?" Carter asked, reaching for a large standard-issue jar of lubricant, intercourseper anum, for the use of."As I'll ever be, ma'am." He was spotlessly clean, as per regulations, and he'd done what he could to open himself up before they'd been called to line up for assessment.Carter's greased fingers slid into his ass. An easy start, as she twisted them around and pulled gently at his rim, inspecting him. "This is your first assessment, isn't it?" she asked.





	The War Effort

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [4F](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3316277) by [stoatsandwich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoatsandwich/pseuds/stoatsandwich). 



> A while ago I read some sex writing advice that said you needed to have foreplay, not just go straight for anal fisting, and I thought "HOLD MY BEER". The plotbunny sat waiting until Kinktober conveniently had "sex work" and "fisting" as prompts on the same day.
> 
> This is set in the 4F 'verse, a shared AU in which smol!Steve is recruited to the military's Prophylactic Auxiliary, to provide comfort to soldiers and prevent VD. You can read more via the collection linked above – start with stoatsandwich's "[4F](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3316277)". This is a slightly different take, where Steve and his cohort undergo extensive training in England, but otherwise should more or less fit into the shared universe that others have developed.

Steve stood shivering in his shorts. The main hall of Westbourne Manor was cavernous and chilly, darkened portraits of long-dead Westbournes (he presumed) staring disapprovingly down from the walls. A row of cubicles were set up, their partitions nothing more than thin curtains stretched on frames that could be wheeled around as needed. Faint noises came from behind them. Next to Steve, his fellow Trainee Prophylactic Auxiliaries, male and female alike, shuffled and hugged their arms around them to stave off the cold. 

_It's good practice for when you go into the field_ , he told himself. _Think about what it's like out there. Bucky's probably colder than this right now._

He'd be warm enough soon, he imagined. It was the standing around that was the problem. That and the anticipation. He'd trained for this, but he couldn't help the nerves fluttering in his stomach at the final assessment before they were approved for duty.

"Robeson," called out an orderly with a clipboard. The trainee in front of Steve stepped forward and was led behind one of the curtained cubicle walls. 

From behind another cubicle, Trainee Olsen came out, looking flushed under his freckles and walking a little unsteadily. Steve raised an eyebrow in question at him, and Olsen gave a thumbs up and a relieved grin. He'd passed. Steve would pass too. He tried to relax, to breathe through the tightness in his chest, and to loosen his body in readiness.

"Rogers."

Steve stepped forward, and was led to the cubicle Olsen had just emerged from. "Rogers, Steven Grant, reporting for assessment," he said, and saluted. The assessor, who had been cleaning up the detritus of the previous assessment, stood up straight and turned around.

"Rogers," she said, and smiled.

Carter. It was Agent Carter. A rush of relief flooded through him. Not only was she his favorite instructor, but the fact she was a woman would make this... much easier. He looked quickly at her hands, and then away.

"Up on the bench," she said, all business.

Steve removed his shorts and positioned himself, using the step-stool to climb up onto the bench, lie back and position himself, sliding forward until his tailbone was just on the edge of it. Carter adjusted the stirrups and he put his feet in them.

Carter started by inspecting him, handling his penis and testicles with her cool hands. She pulled back his foreskin and went through the standard process Steve had been drilled on, along with all the other Auxiliaries, in their first week of training. She paused to write a few notes on a clipboard.

"Ready for the main show?" she asked, reaching for a large standard-issue jar of lubricant, intercourse _per anum_ , for the use of.

"As I'll ever be, ma'am." He was spotlessly clean, as per regulations, and he'd done what he could to open himself up before they'd been called to line up for assessment.

Carter's greased fingers slid into his ass. An easy start, as she twisted them around and pulled gently at his rim, inspecting him. "This is your first assessment, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am." Some of the trainees took several tries before they passed, but Steve was determined to get through it and get out into the field as quickly as he could. 

"Do you think you're ready for active service?" As she asked, her fingertips probed at his prostate. He jerked sharply, then forced himself to settle and answer. 

"Yes, ma'am!" 

"Well then, let's see. We don't want you getting injured performing your duties." She slid more fingers in. Steve didn't answer, but instead concentrated on the stretching sensation, schooling himself to be as ready and willing as he'd been trained. Her hand moved in him, testing him, and he felt her thumb slide in alongside. This was the moment. He took a deep breath, nodded his readiness, and held her gaze as she pushed her hand right into him.

"Not bad," she said. His breath was coming in quick pants, and he struggled to control it. He could feel her fist inside him, moving slightly as she stretched her fingers. "How's this?" she said, bending her wrist, rubbing her knuckles back and forth.

Steve replied with something like, "Nnnnghhh," sparks firing behind his eyelids – when had he closed his eyes? – so that he barely noticed it when she started to pull out. Her hand slithered back past his rim, pulling on it, and he came back to himself. _Oh. That was – was that it?_

Before he had a chance to express his surprise, her hand was back at his hole. "Just a little more lubricant," she said. "You'll have to use it carefully in the field, but here we can –" Her hand pushed back into him without any warning. "We can use as much as we want." Steve nodded wordlessly. The Prophylactic Auxiliary had its own supply, exempt from rationing.

"Now, then," Carter said, and Steve felt one of her other fingers testing his rim where it was stretched around his hole. "Sorry about this, but I do have smaller hands than the others."

 _Oh. Oh shit_ , he thought, as two of her fingers pushed in beside her wrist and pulled at his rim. He felt his chest tighten, an edge of panic creeping into his lungs with his panting breath. He couldn't – he had to get through this. It was for the war effort. He forced himself to breathe slowly. Carter's fingertips slid around, testing the stretch. He almost felt like he could feel the ridges of her fingerprints against the too-sensitive flesh. 

He was meant to be past this, to be able to take it with impunity. He tried to clear his mind, to stare at the dark shadows of the ceiling above him, to listen to the low hum of voices, clinical and less so, from the cubicles around him. If he could just distract himself, try not to care that she was pushing another finger into him... 

She said something encouraging, and he nodded. Carter was always like that, willing to treat him as if he were no different from the other Auxiliaries, as if she believed he was just as good as the rest. He _was_ as good as them. He might be small, he might tire easily, but he could take as much as any of them. He would do his duty for the war effort. 

Carter had four fingers in alongside her other wrist, he was pretty sure. He could feel the stretch, starting to burn. He tried to figure out how big her two hands together would be, if they were larger than a man's. He couldn't tell. He'd practiced, stretched himself over the weeks of his training, cajoled his fellow trainees into helping him and helped them in return. It had to be enough. _Don't tear, don't tear,_ he thought, desperately, gripping his hands tightly against the edges of the bench and then forcing himself to let go. She'd examine him afterward, and any blood would be an automatic fail. 

For a moment there was a relief of pressure. Carter had paused, eased off a little. "Steve?" she said, and he realized she'd said his name multiple times already, resorting to his given name when he didn't respond. He focused on her. "I'm sure you can take this," she said, and as she said it he was sure too. He _could_ take it. He'd take it for her, and for the war effort. She was still talking: "... but if you can't, you just have to say so."

He shook his head vigorously from side to side. "I can do it," he said. And then, more firmly, "Do it."

She laughed, a light chuckle that made him flush. "Don't tell me, you can do this all day. All right, then."

The pressure at his hole was more than he'd ever felt. The huge, overwhelming bulk of her second hand pressed inexorably into him, and Steve heard himself babbling, "Oh God, please, please," a blasphemous prayer spilling over his lips without his volition. She moved her hand, circling and stretching him in every direction, and then she pushed again.

It was never going to fit. He was going to fail, he was going to fail his assessment just like he'd failed his medical. A 4F stamp on his ass, not even suitable to be fucked for the war effort. He'd come so close, all the way to England, within sight of the war, just to be sent back. If he'd got shocked looks and sidelong glances from his neighbours for joining the Prophylactic Auxiliary, imagine what they would say when he came back a failure. Little Stevie Rogers, no good for anything.

He gritted his teeth, panting through them, his fingernails gouging crescents in his own palms. Inside his head there was nothing but the echoing memories of a thousand fights lost, a thousand times he'd dragged himself home beaten and bloody, feeling like it was just him against all the bullies in the world. 

"Come on, Rogers," came Carter's voice, far away. It wasn't mocking or pitying. She, at least, believed he could do it.

In his head a thousand Steves, still carrying the bruises and sticking-plasters of their last fight, stood up and and squared off against the next bully. "Do it," he said.

The stretch at his rim was unbearable for a long, drawn out moment, and then it wasn't. Her hand sank into him, pushing past the muscles at his entrance in a sudden unstoppable rush. 

Steve's vision blurred, every nerve in his body singing as if they were all connected directly to his ass. His skin flushed hot then cold, and he could hear his heart beating fast in his own eardrums. He didn't know how long it took him to come back to his senses, but slowly he became aware that Carter was frozen, holding perfectly still with both her hands in his ass while he gathered himself. He blinked and lifted his head from the bench to look down at her.

"Good job," she said, smiling up from between his spread knees. "I'm going to pull out now."

A sudden twinge and it was done. Steve's ass felt empty, loose. He could feel the cold air on the sensitized flesh, and wondered if he looked as open as he felt. Carter turned away and scrubbed her hands, giving Steve a chance to gather his wits before she set the hand towel aside and pulled a wheeled trolley over.

"Just a few more tests," she said. She was doing things to his ass, he barely even knew what. He shivered at her gentle touch. Finally, she wiped a gauze swab around his rim. He almost whimpered, but bit it back.

"All good," she said. She helped him remove his ankles from the stirrups, and gave him a hand up. "Congratulations, Prophylactic Auxiliary Rogers. You passed."

"Th– thank you," Steve said, a little unsteadily. He reached for his shorts and pulled them on, holding on to the bench to make sure he didn't wobble and fall over. His dick was heavy between his legs, a low thrum of arousal pulsing through his body. He could feel Carter's gaze on him, but he didn't turn to look at her. She was just the assessor. 

Finally he turned around. Carter was holding out a slip of paper. As he took it from her his hand brushed against hers, warm and smooth, her red nails sensibly short. "You'll get your posting in a couple of days," she said. "Best of luck."

Beyond the curtained partition, more trainees were lined up. One of the girls caught his eye, lifted her eyebrow questioningly. She'd come over on the transport with him, and had always been friendly. He gave a thumbs up, just like Olsen had, and walked carefully back to his quarters.


End file.
